


Learning to Swim

by sunshine (sunshinepiveh)



Category: Star Trek
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-22
Updated: 2017-09-22
Packaged: 2019-01-04 02:30:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12159744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunshinepiveh/pseuds/sunshine
Summary: Academy AU. Spock learns to swim from Kirk.





	Learning to Swim

**Author's Note:**

> This story was first published in the KisCon 2017 fanzine.
> 
> It has been graciously beta'd by Amanda Warrington during her assembly of the zine, though all mistakes remain my own.
> 
> As inspiration for this story is the adage to "write what you know". One thing that I know is my weekly swim, and my memory of the struggles of learning to swim to begin with.

 

Not every Starfleet officer would fly. It was a common misconception by civilians that the primary reason for joining Starfleet was to get stationed aboard a ship, and to go off into space. To explore, to aid, to study, to adventure. But flying was not nearly the only component of the organisation, as Spock well knew. Actually, over half of Starfleet employees were termed “grounded”. Sometimes that meant that they had a posting on a planet or moon, and sometimes it meant they were stationed aboard a space station. Sometimes an officer didn't have high enough marks at the academy or other credentials in their career to be able to compete with the flight postings. But more often than not, ground postings were desired for all number of reasons. Scientists had phenomena to study, diplomats had diplomacy to conduct, there were medical staff, botanists, politicians, administration, terraforming... the list went on.

However, should a Starfleet officer fly, he or she would need to pass their swim certification. For a ground position, this wasn't necessarily so. Spock had looked into it. Extensively. Only if the planet (or space station, or whatever) were covered by a certain percentage of water, or if the job in question were likely to encounter such amounts of water -- only then would the officer be required to get their certification. There was no need for such an exam if, for example, someone were stationed on a desert planet.

But flight officers would encounter any number of different worlds, and as such their training was extensive. And one of those myriad of skill sets they were required to have was the ability to swim.

Spock, like every other Vulcan that he had knownwas aware of, could not swim. He'd never swum in his life. He'd never waded in a pool. He'd never dipped his feet in a creek, or paddle-boated on a lake, or even walked along the ocean shore close enough to get his feet wet. Now, as he was approaching graduation and as he had always fully intended to fly, he really knew he had to work out swimming and get certified already.

He had considered trying to get a special dispensation on cultural grounds. He was permitted to wear an extra layer under his uniform because due to his biology he was often cold in Terran standard climates. His quarters were furnished with specially dimmed and tinted lights on account of eye strain. Other non-human members of Starfleet had other special accommodations. Wetter or dryer air. Special food. Specially designed interfaces for computers, controls, or scientific equipment in order to accommodate different physiologies and physical limitations.

And Spock's people did not, as a rule, swim. They did not have much water on Vulcan. They did not take baths, and often did not take water showers, preferring sonics in modern times, or for monks and traditionalists: sink baths. There were no public pools, certainly. And to Spock, who was unaccustomed to the sensation of such large amounts of water, he didn't find the sensation very pleasant. He'd had water showers and gotten caught in the rain many times. It was damp and left him feeling cold, even in warm weather. The idea of submerging himself in a large pool was not appealing. And he knew that as a Vulcan, a request for a special dispensation would probably be granted, because coming from a Vulcan such a request would have a certain gravitas. His people did not ask for frivolous things. T'Pau's word was weighty in the Federation. All of this would work to his favour, and he could probably waive the requirement.

However, Spock was Vulcan, and unfortunately that meant a strict adherence to logic. And he _knew_ the logic behind requiring Starfleet officers to swim. There could be any number of missions where it would be required of him in order to survive. He knew basic flight controls, although he was not a pilot. He knew first aid though he was not a doctor. And similarly, he should know how to swim.

He just did not want to.

* * *

First, reconnaissance. Spock had reviewed the criteria for his swim certification. Then he'd reviewed countless written and video instructions on how to swim in such a manner that would meet those requirements. He'd reviewed a map of campus and found the locations of two different pools he could use for his endeavour, deciding to use the smaller and lesser used pool, which also had late night hours and would therefore likely allow him the most space and privacy. He'd spent time reviewing his swimwear options as well, and was of course dissatisfied. Not only was he unaccustomed to displaying so much of his naked body as seemed to be the norm, but he harboured considerable concern about the temperature of the water and the additional discomfort he would feel without any protective insulative clothing.

Armed with knowledge, the next step was to scope out the actual pool.

First there was the locker room. Spock had been in a gym elsewhere on campus in order to practice his _suus mahna_ , and so he was acquainted with the Terran locker room experience. The various people would change their clothes in open view of each other (though segregated roughly by gender, if they had one), and store their belongings in one of the provided lockers. The lock itself was something you were supposed to provide yourself, or otherwise take your chances. He'd made that miscalculation the first time he had used such a locker, and while he was grateful that nothing untoward had happened to his unprotected belongings that day, he hadn't taken the risk from then on.

In the locker room, Spock had learned, there was usually a little cubby with a curtain for the painfully shy, or there was a toilet stall in the adjoining bathroom, where he could change his clothes. He had no intention of stripping down in front of strangers, in view of _everyone_.

Through this particular locker room there were the showers, as per usual, and then a door into the pool area. Spock wondered if he had to change his clothes to walk through the open showers, if he at the very least should change his shoes, but as he didn't actually plan to swim, he decided to just walk through and take a seat in the small bleacher section, and have a look around. He was grateful it was late at night and he had passed no one in the public showers.

The pool was empty at that hour, save for one lone body doing laps. A sleepy, elderly gentleman sat like a statue in the corner of the large room -- a lifeguard float across his lap the only indication that he was supposed to be actually guarding lives. Then again, it didn't seem as if the lone swimmer would require his services.

It was the first time Spock had actually seen someone swimming in person, rather than in a video. The man was young like himself, most probably another Starfleet student. Well-muscled, and in the commonest of swim trunks. Nondescript. Not very revealing for human standards, terribly scandalous for a Vulcan. Spock could see no sign of the man's hair, tightly ensconced in a black silicone cap. Eyes hidden by bug-like plastic goggles.

But the grace of each stroke, the water sluicing but not splashing around him... it was beautiful. Mesmerizing. Spock watched with absolute wonder as the man executed a perfect (to his eyes) flip-turn and set about the return length, arm over elegant arm, head turning for breath in perfect synchronicity. Here, man was fish, and the water seemed to be as much this man's element as the land. Perhaps it was, here on this water planet. Such a display of skill far surpassed the Starfleet requirements which loosely translated to “don't drown”. Spock wondered as he observed whether this man was part of Starfleet's swim team. He'd never before even contemplated sports, seeing them as a waste of his time. Surely, though, this man would qualify.

* * *

Spock had only meant to stay a few minutes, to scope out the situation at the pool. He had the data that he had come for. He knew how to use the entrance. He'd seen the locker rooms. He knew that the pool was relatively empty, where the lifeguard sat, what kind of swimwear the only other occupant was wearing (which confirmed his research into appropriate garb). But instead of staying just a short time, he stayed for quite a while, watching the lone swimmer, taking in both his aesthetic beauty and his technique. Perhaps, he told himself, he could replicate it when he made his own attempts in the coming days.

The man ducked under the strung up plastic beads and swam gracefully under the water to the ladder, then hoisted himself out of the water with one great tug, water slicking off his toned body, and Spock sat, entranced. The man pulled his goggles off his face and up onto the top of his head, wiping any residual moisture from his eyes with damp hands (inefficient) and blinked up at Spock, his face splitting into a wide grin.

“Hey man. I saw you watching. You swim?”

Spock blinked, caught off guard. He stared at the man before him. His eyes were blue, Spock noted. Startlingly blue. And he had dark impressions under his eyes from where the goggles had cut in. Spock tried to parse what had just been said. He'd been caught out in his watching? When? “Negative. However, I intend to do so presently,” he explained, distracted as the man fished his towel off of one of the bleachers and began to wipe off his face, finally freeing his hair from its silicone confines to reveal a bright blond cap of hair.

The man searched Spock for a moment with a curious look to his face. “You're Vulcan, right?” he observed. “I can't imagine there's much water on your planet.”

“You are correct.” Spock stated simply. “However, it is Starfleet regulation that I should pass a basic swim test if I intend to fly. As I am soon to graduate and do intend to fly, I am required to acquire the necessary skills.”

“Do you have a teacher then?” the blond arched a brow at him.

Spock straightened his already impeccable posture. “I do not. However, I have studied the theory at length --”

The blond burst into a hearty, tinkling laughter, and Spock stiffened. He'd never been comfortable with people laughing at him, regardless of his long attempts at ignoring it. However, the man's laughter died out and he looked surprisingly un-malicious in response to Spock's own cutting glare. “Listen, theory is one thing but practice is something else.” He ran a hand through his damp hair. “Why don't you let me teach you? We've both got Tuesday evenings free at the very least. I come every week night from nine to ten. You show up, I'll help you out.”

Spock eyed the human skeptically. What was the trap? “Why would you offer this?” he asked suspiciously, still unnerved by the man's laughter. He'd missed some social cue, he was certain.

The man just shrugged. “Why wouldn't I? I'm Jim, by the way. Jim Kirk.”

Jim Kirk did not extend his hand for any sort of human touch ritual, Spock noted with some surprise. It was a first since he'd arrived on Earth. “I am Spock.” he replied, uncertain as to the correct ritual response, especially now that the hand clasping had been omitted.

“Glad to meet you. Anyway, feel free to think on it. I'll be here tomorrow, and the next night....” he shrugged. “You know where to find me.”

With that, Jim Kirk was gone, walking back through the door to the men’s locker room. From his seat on the bleachers, Spock could hear one of the communal showers start, and wasn't certain whether it would be appropriate for him to walk through the shower room to leave while he was fully clothed, and the shower was in use. He lingered on the bleachers a long time before he deemed it safe to leave, avoiding any further contact with the human, with Jim Kirk, who would likely be changing.

Spock had a lot to think about.

* * *

Wednesday night, Spock was there. He came early. He used one of the bathroom stalls to change into his rather scanty (though by Earth standards, conservative) swim trunks. He used one of the public showers to rinse off, wearing his plastic sandals to prevent contagious foot diseases. He set his towel neatly on the bleachers, and worked on getting his head and pointed ear tips under a tight silicone cap, as required by the pool regulations. Then, the goggles. They were a bit more difficult to affix, but he was relatively certain they were secure.

Then, to the ladder, and into the water. Which was frigid. Spock had thought he'd prepared himself for this, but it was startlingly, shockingly cold to his Vulcan skin, and he felt his breath stop within his chest as his feet worked their way down the ladder. His fingers clenched at the metal bars as he lowered himself further, the water coming up on his torso. His every muscle was tense, and he suppressed a shiver. Spock closed his eyes and began to regulate his body temperature to compensate.

“Just dunk under,” a voice startled him from the bleachers. “It'll be quicker and less painful.”

“Jim Kirk.” Spock acknowledged as Jim seamlessly slipped on his swim cap, then moved to join him. Jim drifted gracefully beneath the water beside Spockhim. When he came up for air, he pulled his dampened goggles on.

“Spock.” Jim greeted with a smile. “So you want some help today? Or should I just get in my laps?”

“Your assistance would be appreciated,” Spock said. He'd decided earlier that day to take Jim up on his offer, because quite honestly, he was intimidatedout of his depth.

“Cool,” Jim smiled. “This'll be fun. First you have to go under the water, though. You're gonna get wet -- may as well do it sooner rather than later.”

Spock firmed his resolve, and recalled what he'd read. A steady exhale of breath through his nose should ensure that he did not accidentally inhale the water. As Spock was quite used to breathing, he foresaw no difficulty in executing the theory. But as Jim Kirk had told him, theory was not practice. The water was cold, all across his body, seizing his chest and robbing him of breath. He had to remember to _breathe out_ , but he was expelling the water at too slow of a rate, feeling it fill his nose -- it would choke him! Surely he would drown. In the milliseconds of panic Spock fought for control, exhaling more forcefully in order to save his own life, but the bubbles rolled out of him, he would be out of air more quickly than anticipated. Simultaneously he was aware of his flesh tightening in the cold, the water rushing in and around his silicone cap. His eyes opened within his protective goggles instinctively, to see the danger before him, but this too was a mistake. They apparently were not affixed properly and the sharp sting of chlorine hit his eyes, causing him to temporarily choke on the water around him. He shot up to a standing position once more, coughing and sputtering slightly as his hands immediately sought out his goggles, fussing with them frantically to get them sealed on his face.

“Hey, hey, it's okay.” Jim's voice penetrated his panic, the man's hands already gently pushing his own out of the way as Jim pulled Spock's goggles off while Spock frantically scrubbed at his stinging eyes, trying to pull in breath regularly. “You'll get used to the breathing thing. You did good.” He inspected the goggles in his hands with serious attention.

When Spock could properly see again, he noted that Jim was not laughing this time, and felt reassured. “The protective eyewear appears to be defective.”

“Put them on for me?” Jim asked, handing the goggles back over. “No, no, don't bother with the strap. Just smush them on your face for a second.”

Spock attempted to do as Jim said, but the goggles just sort of flopped away, and Jim nodded knowingly. “You've gotta go back to the store for a different pair.”

“Are these defective then?” Spock asked, looking at the goggles in his hands for some sort of clue as to their malfunction.

“Not exactly. Everyone's head is different. If you want a pair that fit, you've got to take them out of the packaging while you're there and put them up to your face, sort of smush them up against your eyes. If they suction for a second, they fit you. Then you make sure that the nose piece and strap fit you too. You should be able to find something that fits better. In the meantime, you can do without them for tonight. Just don't open your eyes under water,” he smiled gently.

“Indeed,” Spock said, quirking a brow curiously. He hadn't found any such instructions in all of his research. For now, he set his goggles aside on the edge of the pool. Across the room he noted that the lifeguard on duty was more engrossed in his PADD than what they were doing -- which simultaneously unnerved and reassured Spock. He had no desire to be the center of attention, but he was concerned that his brush with death had gone unnoticed by the man who was supposed to guard his life. Well. At least there was Jim.

“So I take it you've never been in the water before?” Jim asked.

“Not as such,” Spock answered, surmising that Jim would not count showers or rainstorms.

Jim blew out a breath as he thought. “Alright. Basics then. You want to doggy paddle or back float first?”

“The swim exam requires me to back float, as does the required back stroke. However, I am unaware of this 'doggy paddle' of which you speak,” Spock pronounced stiffly.

Jim's eyes lit up and he choked back a laugh, while Spock's own eyes narrowed in consternation. This was a frequent reaction of humans around him, as if he'd said something particularly amusing inadvertently. It was not comfortable.

“The doggy paddle is the first step to the front stroke, or freestyle,” Jim said levelly, and Spock relaxed minutely when he realized that Jim was not going to make a big deal of his ignorance.

“Very well. Let us begin with the back float,” he suggested, though he felt his heart flutter in his side in anticipation of it. Lying back in the water went against his every instinct, though he clamped down on such a base reaction, firmly reminding himself of the physics involved. It was no mystery how the back float worked. It was physics. It would work.

“All right.” Jim nodded, moving perpendicularly to Spock. “Is it okay if I touch you? Together we'll ease you back into the water while I support your back and head, and then I'll gently release you when I'm confident you have the idea,” Jim explained. 

Spock eyed him dubiously but gave a curt nod, bracing himself for the feel of Jim's hands upon him while he fought his instincts and eased back. He locked his psychic shields down firmly and concentrated on positioning his body, letting Jim guide him. The wall tipped up and the ceiling came into view, the water lapping around his peripheral vision. It gushed into his ears and the whole thing unnerved him greatly. Would he be able to get it out? Spock gave an instinctive, uncomfortable twitch as his head dunked in slightly, even as Jim supported the back of it.

“That's right.” Jim's voice was muffled by the water around him. A mysterious hum was loud while Jim's voice was distant. “Now try to ease your feet up, straighten out,” he encouraged, and Spock struggled to do so, tensing up as he felt as if he were seconds away from drowning. “You'll have to relax,” Jim explained in measured tones. “I've got you. Just relax into my arms and let yourself float. Try to arch your back a bit. You'll float up.”

Physics. Spock reminded himself again that he _would_ float if he didn't fight the process, and gradually he found himself floating somewhat awkwardly in this stranger's arms, half naked and skin to skin with the man. It was profoundly uncomfortable, and the aquatic environment made everything that much more stressful. But he was floating. He was floating, and regulating his breathing, and beginning to accustom himself to the strange sound the water made in his ears.

Gently, Jim began to pull his hands away, fractions at a time. Spock didn't even notice he was doing it at first, which was the point. The second he realized what was happening he gave a wild flail, his head dunking beneath the surface for a second as he struggled to get his footing again.

“Jim!” Spock chastised, standing once again and wiping the stinging water from his eyes as he coughed weakly in humiliation.

“You were doing it!” Jim defended.

“You did not inform me you were about to release me,.” Spock argued, flushing a vibrant green. “I was not prepared.”

“Okay, okay!” Jim apologized a bit desperately. “You're right, I should have warned you. I'm sorry. Do you want to try again?”

Spock eyed him balefully, wanting nothing so much as to end the session, but he still had much to learn and the idea of doing it on his own or finding some new instructor didn't bear thinking of. He gave a curt nod, not trusting himself to actually speak with the human when he was emotionally compromised.

Again Jim's hands were on him, again Spock let himself be eased back, forcing himself to trust in the stranger as much as in his understanding of physics and in his ability to perform the task. He now understood viscerally why trust falls were still spoken of as a demanding exercise.

“I'm going to ease my hands away now,” Jim informed him after a few moments, and Spock prepared himself mentally. He took stock of his body and was careful to maintain its position, not tensing or shifting around, keeping his breathing regular. And bit by bit, Jim eased away, and Spock realized that he was doing it. This was the back float! He had already achieved one of his swim goals.

“Good.” Jim smiled down at the Vulcan in front of him. “That's really great, Spock.” he congratulated, seeming genuinely impressed. 

Spock came back to a standing position when he'd proved to himself he could maintain form indefinitely. He cocked his head to the side and winced as he tried awkwardly to dispel some water from his ear canal.

“That'll happen.” Jim said sympathetically. “If it really bothers you, you can buy some earplugs, but most people just get used to it and it comes out on its own in a few hours.”

Spock made a mental note to purchase earplugs along with his goggles prior to their next meeting.

“You wanna keep going or is that enough new stuff for one night?”

“I would prefer to proceed with the lesson, if it is not an inconvenience.”

“No inconvenience at all,” Jim smiled warmly. Just the opposite, really.

“Does it not interfere with your regular practice?” Spock queried, still feeling uncomfortable that he was putting Jim out of his usual routine.

“Nah,” Jim shrugged. “I just do it for exercise and to turn off my brain for a while.”

“I had assumed you were part of the school team, based upon your level of expertise,” Spock said with a blink.

Jim looked surprised and flushed. He gave an awkward laugh. “Me, compete? Thanks for the compliment, but I'm really nowhere near qualified for it.” Jim turned away for a second looking flustered.

“So I guess the next thing is the doggy paddle. At least that's what we normally taught the kids.”

“You have taught before,” Spock observed. That made sense, as Jim seemed to be knowledgeable about both swimming _and_ the preferred methods of instruction.

“Yeah, I helped teach swim lessons to the kids back in Iowa, where I’m from. Anyway. Doggy paddle,” he reiterated, and Spock paid strict attention. Jim swam awkwardly ahead a bit, then back.

“Do you think you can do it?” Jim asked. “It's really pretty instinctive for most human kids. They sort of do it on their own without thinking much about it. But not all of them. If you're not sure about the mechanics of it, I can break it down further....”

Spock looked out at the lane ahead of them, then looked back at Jim with a slight frown, biting his bottom lip in uncertainty.

Jim let out a breath. “Right then. Come over here to the edge,” he said and moved to the side of the pool. “Hold yourself up on the edge, try to make yourself as straight as you can, and kick.” He demonstrated, making a lot of awkward and loud splashing, then he stopped and straightened. “It's not elegant, but if you can do that comfortably enough we can get out one of the boards and do a kicking drill. There are ways to just practice the arms too but honestly that's more awkward than doing both at the same time.”

Spock dutifully held onto the edge of the pool and splashedkicked furiously, starkly aware of his awkward thrashing, for long enough to feel like a complete fool, then stopped.

“Good,” Jim said straight-faced, and Spock quirked an eyebrow. “Well you know,” Jim amended with a shrug and a slight smile, “relatively speaking.” Spock watched Jim as he hoisted himself out of the pool and wandered over to the wall where gear was piled, as he selected a foam board.

“Have you ever ridden a bicycle?” Jim queried as he jumped back into the water. Spock winced at the splash.

“Negative.”

“Of course you haven’t,” Jim sighed. “Well, we usually tell the kids to kick less like riding a bicycle, but I guess the reference is lost on you. Just... try not to splash if you can help it. But honestly? It’s just one of those things that gets less awkward with time.” Jim pushed the floating board in Spock’s direction, and Spock hesitantly clutched it.

“Hold it with both hands, out in front of you, and kick.” Jim instructed, as if it was the simplest thing in the world.

Spock stared at the innocuous foam board with distrust, and clutched it with fingers tight from both cold and stress. He attempted to kick as hard as he had while clutching at the edge of the pool, but it was difficult to make much forward momentum and impossible not to splash tremendously.

“Try to straighten your arms!” Jim yelled over the noise of the splashing, and Spock attempted to do as instructed, noting dismally that while he did make a slight forward momentum, the board was drifting to the right, toward the floating beads that delineated the lanes.

“That’s great!” Jim encouraged him over the noise, while Spock winced at the water splashing into his eyes, self-generated waves lapping over his tightly closed mouth and inching dangerously close to his nose. His legs pumped frantically and he did at least warm a bit at the motion, as his muscles burned with exertion and his lungs struggled to pull in enough air without breathing the water.

“You do that, I’ll do my laps!” Jim shouted to him, and without waiting for any sort of response, Jim ducked under the beads to a safer lane and started on his own task, leaving Spock to practice his.

This did not reassure Spock in the slightest. Not only was the elderly lifeguard a completely unreliable guard of Spock’s life, but Jim had abandoned him to the steadily deepening water as he drifted inch by inch, cocking his right leg awkwardly to try and steer back toward the center of the lane. If he should die here, it would be a somewhat undignified death, Spock was sure. The only saving grace was the fact that he did, indeed, have a floatation device within his grasp, though as he struggled to direct its movements he worried at its efficacy in actually saving a drowning victim.

Still, Spock was determined to master this kicking, as he could not possibly advance in his lessons without doing so. For the rest of the hour, Jim Kirk would complete his graceful laps, while Spock tried to stay afloat.

* * *

“Hey, new goggles!” Jim Kirk remarked with a grin as Spock entered the pool the next evening. This time, Jim was already in the water when he arrived, though Spock had not seen him swimming when he entered so perhaps he had just arrived as well. “That was fast.”

“Yes.” Spock confirmed, glad that he could still somewhat hear Jim’s voice through the silicone earplugs he’d put in this time around.

“Cool. So you wanna do more kicking drills today? You seemed like you were getting it by the end there.”

“If kicking drills are required, I will complete them,” Spock answered stiffly, though he disliked the idea of it. “However, if it is possible, I should like to proceed.”

Jim shrugged. “It’s all the same to me. The drills are only to help you. If you’re ready to move on, it’s up to you.”

“Then let us proceed.” Spock reiterated, though he wasn’t certain what the next step would be to actually completing the swim requirements.

“Yeah, sure.” Jim paused, clearly giving the matter some consideration. “You want to learn back stroke, or front float?”

“Is the front float required?” Spock asked with a frown. He did not recall that as being on the list.

“Probably not specifically, but you need it to learn freestyle.”

Of course. All of the unpleasant steps seemed to be associated with that stroke. Spock set his jaw. “Very well. I shall learn to front float.”

“First,” Jim said, “I want you to go under the water and show me you won’t get it in your nose or anything. Just dunk under and breathe out, then come up when you need air. I don’t want you drowning on me and you’ll have to learn this with your face in the water.”

Spock tried and failed to suppress his glare at the reminder of his failure the previous day. It was humiliating. Not for the first time, he envied Jim his grace in the pool. Not once had he heard the man cough, his head always turning with fluid grace as he glided forward. An automatic movement, that Spock knew was the result of long practice, yet that knowledge did not really help him feel much better about his own current lack of grace.

Instinctively, Spock squeezed his eyes shut as he dunked under the water, though his new goggles should in theory protect his eyes. He focused on the pressure in his nostrils, expelling the air within his lungs steadily to counter the pressure of the water attempting to enter him. Halfway through his exhale, he braved opening his eyes, seeing for the first time the watery world around him.

The hum beneath the water was ever-present, and the sound was insulated even more than before within his head. The water was bitingly cold, and fascinating to look through. Here, under the waterline, the view was clear, while the world above had blurred instead. For a moment, Spock saw the potential appeal of this past-time. Was this, he wondered, what it had been like within the womb? Muffled from the world around him, dim and watery? Though of course he knew the womb would have been quite warm.

Spock came up for air, being sure to breathe in only when he was certain his nose was clear of the water around him. He blinked at the return of a less-blurry Jim Kirk, though his goggles still seemed to distort his true form, and beads of water and fog further obscured reality. “That’s great!” Jim enthused from a muffled distance through Spock’s earplugs. “So, front float.”

Jim demonstrated the position first, then explained to Spock what he already suspected. Much like the back float, Spock would need to straighten his body and remain relaxed. Other than that, Jim wouldn’t even need to touch him for this, though he’d be nearby if Spock should have any sort of difficulty. “If you’re really worried,” Jim told him, “you can try it first while holding onto the side of the pool. Then when you think you’ve got it, just let go, maybe give yourself a little push backwards.”

Spock took Jim’s advice, adhering to the relative safety of the poolside for support, though he felt an odd pang of regret that the hands-on lessons of the previous day seemed to be at an end. He pushed the thought out of his mind and concentrated on the task before him. Face in the water, eyes open though instinctively distrusting of his goggles. The water suitably obstructed from his ears this time around. Here, everything was quiet, and Spock was fascinated at how dangerous the environment was when it came with such tranquillity. Like space, the thought came to him. Exactly like outer space.

When Spock had floated successfully for a few moments, he came back to standing to get some air.

“You’ll want to learn to turn your head to do that.” Jim informed him. “Breathe to the side. You’ll get the hang of that later though, once you learn the stroke. Ready for front stroke? Or do you want to start with back? A lot of the kids think back is easier, but freestyle is faster once you know it.”

“Both strokes are required for the Starfleet swim test,” Spock answered. “Therefore I remain indifferent.”

“Fair enough.” Jim’s mouth twitched with amusement that he didn’t try to explain. “Freestyle it is then. You’ve watched me do it a number of times,” he told Spock. “Arms stroke like this,” he demonstrated awkwardly in the air, “feet kick, head turns to the side for air if you’re doing it right. But really, it’s like the kicking drills. I’ve seen kids try to learn it a hundred different ways, but in the end the best method is to awkwardly flail around for a while until you get the hang of it,” he shrugged somewhat apologetically.

“Very well,” Spock answered, bracing himself for the coming humiliation. “I imagine you’ll wish to return to your regular workout,” Spock tried to hint subtly. He would prefer no one watch the coming embarrassment.

“You sure you’ll be okay?” Jim asked with a worried frown. He glanced at the elderly lifeguard and Spock wondered if Jim’s assessment of his efficacy was similar to his own.

Spock hesitated, his own nerves winning out. “Is there not a way to practice the motion of the arms separately from the legs?” he inquired, not confident in his ability to put all of the disparate pieces of the puzzle together at once.

Jim winced. “There are leg floats, but they take some getting used to.”

“I will try that.” Spock said firmly.

“You really would be better off --” Jim tried to object, but Spock had made up his mind. He had practiced nearly all of an hour Wednesday with the legs. It was sensible that he dedicate Thursday to the arms, and perhaps the face.

Jim hoisted himself out of the water and walked again toward the gear. Spock was certain he heard him mutter something, but through the earplugs he could hear nothing.

* * *

The leg float was impossible. Spock death-gripped the side of the pool while Jim attempted to help Spock grip the foam between his calves. Spock squeezed around them when told to, but his knees were bent, and his rear wanted to float higher, threatening to plunge his head downward at a deathly angle.

“Okay now just let go of the edge,” Jim encouraged. “I’ll try to spin you around so you’re facing forward.” Spock let go with one hand and immediately flailed his arm, splashing water everywhere as his body convulsed. He nearly lost his grip on the leg float before he tightened up again, once more gripping the wall with both hands.

“Here, grab my hands,” Jim offered, and Spock quickly and carefully snapped one hand then the other into Jim’s, instead of the wall. Jim spun him gently while Spock strained his neck to keep his face out of the water. “Straighten your legs.” Jim coaxed him calmly. “So you’re doing a front float like before. Come on, I’ve got you,” he encouraged. “And if you need a breath of air, turn your head to the side.”

Spock complied, inch by inch, to straighten his legs and float like a board as he’d done only minutes before. The float pulled at his calves, forcing them higher in the water than they’d been when he’d floated on his own. He felt like a capsizing vessel, and had to fight back panic as he steadily exhaled through his nose, then turned his head to the side to get some air. He saw now the benefit of gulping a breath so quickly through the mouth, and followed in Jim’s example as he breathed out through his nose again, even as his head remained mostly to the side. He could feel the gentle swell of the pool water lapping threateningly next to his mouth and nose. Even with his head turned to the side, air was no guarantee.

“Okay,” Jim said exasperatedly. He _had_ warned Spock against the leg float, after all. “I’m going to let go of your hands,” he warned. “You’ve got this. Just like before.” Jim gently eased away and Spock forced himself to relinquish his grasp. “Now try to stroke,” Jim urged him, but it was impossible. Spock flailed in a way he hoped was correct, because he was capsizing just as he’d feared he would. The leg float pulled at his calves, lifting his feet into the air, and without a stabilizing counterforce on his arms he felt his head plunge below the water.

Spock’s eyes snapped shut instinctively, even though he had the protection of his goggles this time, and his lungs demanded air though he knew intellectually that he should be fine. He couldn’t find the way up, and the stroking did nothing to stabilize the situation. Spock splashed desperately, too frantically for Jim to even attempt to right him, and all at once his legs splayed in a bid for self preservation, relinquishing their grip on the float as he struggled to open his eyes and orient himself once more on his feet. All around him, the water churned and it was difficult even in those few seconds to find up from down.

When Spock stood again he was coughing and sputtering gracelessly, and his heart beat a frantic tattoo in his side. He noted with some concern that the elderly man in the corner seemed as placid as ever, though Spock had just skirted the very edge of death.

Before him, Jim looked equally pained and amused, and it took every ounce of Spock’s Vulcan control not to lash out at him for his mirth. Surely he could have drowned.

“I told you it’s harder with the leg float,” Jim reminded him. “Why not just try doggy paddling like I showed you yesterday? Once you get the feel for it, you can try to straighten out into something resembling freestyle.”

“Agreed,” Spock answered stoically, for his pride had certainly suffered enough already. Self-consciously, he gripped the wall beside him with one hand and flailed his way forward, eventually relinquishing his grip and managing just barely to keep his head above water and make forward progress. It was certainly humiliating but he swallowed his pride and applied his mind to the task. Only when he was halfway down the lane did he hear the more rhythmic, softer splashing of Jim doing his own laps. Soon enough, he could spot Jim well ahead of him in the next lane over, moving as gracefully as if he’d been born to the water.

Of course, he reminded himself, Jim’s skill was born of years of hard work, and Spock had barely been at his task for two days. Spock reinforced his determination, and by the end of the hour, he was awkwardly front-stroking, or at least he was more-so than doggy paddling. It was progress.

* * *

Spock determinedly kept his eyes forward in the communal shower, for the second time. Two showers down, Jim was stripping bare, throwing his swim trunks over a nearby ledge to pick up in a moment. From yesterday’s experience, Spock knew Jim would use the soap dispensers on the wall to wash himself from top to bottom. Spock, however, would simply warm himself under the spray, removing the majority of the chlorine, and then retreat to the bathroom stall to change in privacy. There would be no public stripping on his part.

For now, he was grateful that the hot spray on his cool skin was excuse enough for his green flush, should Jim notice it. Not that Jim would. They both carefully avoided gazing upon one another (as far as Spock could tell), in accordance with this strange dance of Terran cultural norms, which simultaneously allowed for exposure and demanded a level of privacy.

One could tell a lot from the periphery. It was obvious already with Jim’s only garment being the trunks, and was all the more obvious now, even from the corner of his eye. Jim was fit. Very fit. In a way that was human and exotic and captivating. The muscles were sculpted, not wiry in the way of most Vulcans Spock had seen. Not that he had seen many, on a planet that prided itself on its modesty. No, Jim looked firm in a way a Vulcan wasn’t. A bit more stout, and solid as a mountain. Not that he was looking. He was determinedly looking straight ahead.

Before he lost control over his physiology, Spock turned off his water and prepared for retreat. He gathered his towel, his goggles, his cap, his earplugs from the ledge, and made his way back to the locker rooms. Then once his locker was open, he took his clothes to the safety and privacy of the bathroom stall, hoping it would shield him sufficiently from any scrutiny on Jim’s part.

Spock was quick at changing. By the time he heard the water shut off in the showers, he was out the door.

* * *

“I checked out the official Starfleet requirements,” Jim told him. “Looks like you need front stroke, back stroke, sustained back float, and treading water. You’ve already got most of that. I figure if you try back stroke today, then practice it and front stroke, you’re pretty much set. If you can do those, you can tread water.”

“Were you not required to take the Starfleet swim exam?” Spock queried. If Jim Kirk didn’t mean to fly, of course he wouldn’t have to take it. The fact that he’d been unfamiliar with the requirements indicated he hadn’t seen any need to know of them.

“I got it waived,” Jim shrugged. Of course that made sense. Surely Jim’s time spent teaching youths to swim would count as experience enough, not to mention any other swim experiences Jim might have had beforehand, or perhaps lessons he’d taken as a child that could vouch for him.

“Sensible.”

“But seriously though,” Jim reiterated, “You practice back stroke and front stroke and you’re golden.”

Spock refrained from informing Jim that he was in no way made of or coloured like gold. Instead he asked Jim to demonstrate the back stroke to him, and in no time he was on his own way down the lane, crookedly bumping into the wall or lane floats, trying to watch the ceiling in order to keep straight as Jim had advised him. After the disaster of the front stroke, the back stroke was trivial. Indeed, he almost wished he’d begun there as it gave him an easy way to work out the mechanics of both his arms and his legs without also attempting to breathe.

The hour flew by, and Spock was almost reluctant to part ways at the end of their session. While practicing his own strokes, it was difficult to find the time to admire Jim’s own technique. And while in the pool in general, it was difficult to strike up any sort of general conversation with the man. He wondered at how quickly he’d become so intrigued by Jim Kirk. His relationship with the man was strictly that of a swim instructor and pupil, yet Spock found himself desiring to know more. What classes had Jim taken? How close was he to graduation? And what were his career plans?

For that matter, where was he from beforehand? He’d mentioned Iowa in passing, but no more. He knew that Jim had taught swimming to children, but he could make of that a hundred different scenarios. Was Jim from money, or poor? Urban, or rural? Did he listen to the obnoxiously loud music of so many other students on campus, or did he spend his time in quiet study in a library?

“You coming to practice over the weekend?” Jim asked in the communal shower, breaking the rule Spock thought he understood about maintaining silence to give the illusion of more privacy.

“Perhaps. If it is not crowded in the evenings. I wish to perfect my techniques with expediency.”

“Makes sense,” Jim allowed. “I’ll probably be catching up on some homework. Going out with Bones.” Jim did not indicate who or what “Bones” was. “I’ll be back here Monday as usual, but I expect if you keep up over the weekend you might not need any more help.”

Spock felt a sudden surge of panic come over him. He hadn’t considered for a second that this might very well be the last time he ever saw Jim Kirk, or at least had any reasonable excuse to see him. Three days of instruction were perhaps a record time for learning to swim from scratch, but Spock was both Vulcan and a genius, and so he should have anticipated this. He estimated that Jim was indeed correct, that if he should continue to practice twice more over the weekend he should be able to adequately pass Starfleet’s required exam.

And then where would Spock be? And what of Jim Kirk?

“Unless, you know,” Jim continued with a degree of casualness, “you wanted to hang out sometime. Outside the pool.”

“That would be agreeable,” Spock answered hurriedly, keeping his eyes fixedly forward as he stood woodenly under the hot spray. He did not know why he agreed so hastily, or what he hoped to gain from further fraternization with this man. But something about him had caught Spock’s attention from day one. From the ease at which he moved through the water, to the fact that he did not offer his hand in greeting. From the calm instructions to the steady hands supporting him as he learned to float. Jim Kirk was someone that he wanted to know more of.

“Cool.” Jim said, sounding pleased, though Spock didn’t dare confirm with a visual. “Shoot me a text sometime then. You know my name; I’m in the system. We should definitely get together sometime. Maybe coffee or you know, whatever.”

“I shall do so,” Spock assured as best he could through voice alone. Then he shut off his water and retreated as usual to the privacy of a bathroom stall. This marked the end of his lessons, perhaps. But it was the beginning of knowing Jim Kirk.


End file.
